Airam still had her face buried in her hands, shoulders tight, breathing uneven.
Harry stepped closer, slowly, like he was approaching something fragile. He gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists.
"Airam…" he whispered. She didn't look at him.
"Hey," he murmured, lifting her hands away from her face inch by inch, careful and tender, "look at me." Her eyes were wet, her lashes trembling.
Harry cupped her cheek with one hand, his thumb barely brushing her skin.
Her breath hitched, but she didn't pull away.
"You don't have to understand everything," he said softly. "Just don't lie to yourself. Or to me. I'm sorry if I push it too hard."
Airam swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling.
He leaned his forehead against hers, just that, nothing more, and Airam froze. His voice dropped to a whisper only she could hear.
"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." Airam's eyes fluttered. For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel the urge to run.
Harry's hand slid to the back of her neck, warm and steady, guiding her to look at him fully.
Her breathing stuttered. They stood so close the space between them felt like a held breath waiting to break.
"Airam," he whispered again, almost pleading, almost reverent.
Airam tried to look away, but he didn't let her. Next, she didn't know who moved first. Maybe it was Harry leaning in.
Maybe it was her finally stopping herself from stepping back.
Their lips hovered, just a breath apart, trembling with everything unsaid.
Airam whispered, "Harry...I…" That was all it took. Harry closed the distance.
His kiss was soft at first, like he was waiting for her to pick up the pace. She did.
Harry's other hand slid to her jaw, holding her like she was something he didn't want to let go of or couldn't get enough of.
The kiss deepened slowly, painfully slow, the kind of slow that made Airam's chest tighten and her knees weaken. Heat rose between them, gentle but consuming, desperate but controlled.
Harry kissed her like he was claiming her. Airam kissed him back like she'd been holding her breath for too long. When they finally broke apart, their foreheads still touching, both breathless.
Harry exhaled shakily. "Don't run," he whispered. "Please."
Airam couldn't speak. She just looked at him without anger, without defenses this time.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Airam stepped back first. Not fast. Not harsh. Just… retreating, like her heart suddenly realized what her body had agreed to.
Her fingers slipped from Harry's shirt, and she turned her face away, pressing her hand lightly to her lips as if the kiss was still echoing there.
"I...I shouldn't have…" she whispered. Harry didn't move toward her this time.
He stood there, breathing unsteadily, letting her have space now. "You don't have to say anything," he said quietly. Airam shook her head, pacing two steps away, her hands shaky.
"That's the problem. I don't know what to say," she muttered. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what any of this means."
Harry's voice softened. "Be my girlfriend." Airam laughed weakly, not from humor, but from disbelief.
"What, no, Harry. You don't understand. I've spent years learning how NOT to feel anything that could break me." She turned around.
"But this? You? I feel… everything. Too much."
Harry's expression softened with something warm and painfully earnest.
"Marry me," he whispered. Airam blinked hard, breathing unevenly again. The wind brushed her hair across her face, and she tucked it behind her ear with trembling fingers.
"We should go," she said finally. "It's late. And we have work." Harry nodded once slowly, like pulling himself back under control. "Okay," he murmured. "I'll walk you."
They walked side by side, close enough that their hands kept brushing, far enough that neither dared to actually hold the other.
Every accidental touch sent a jolt through Airam's entire body. Harry opened the hotel door for her. She stepped inside, and the warm air didn't help her racing pulse at all.
The elevator ride was silent. Too silent. Airam could still feel the kiss. She could still feel him and as if he just didn't ask her to be his girlfriend and then ask her to marry him.
The moment the elevator dinged, she stepped out quickly, desperate for oxygen she couldn't seem to find. Harry followed at a respectful distance.
At her door, she paused. Not looking at him. Not running from him either.
"Goodnight, Harry," she said softly. Harry's jaw tightened, not in anger, in restraint.
He reached out, hesitated, then let his fingers brush her wrist, barely a touch.
"Goodnight, Airam," he said, voice low. "And… please think about my proposal." Her breath caught.
She didn't answer.
She slipped inside her room and closed the door, but leaned her forehead against it, eyes closed, heart pounding, lips still tingling.
On the other side of the door, Harry stood there for a long moment, breathing hard, staring at the wood as he could still feel her warmth through it. He smiled and walked away.